Sports Fan
by LouiseKurylo
Summary: Fluff. Young Patrick Jane finds a way to get what he wants (some things never change). Fun and warm. / I do not own The Mentalist and reap no economic benefits from this story.


**Sports Fan**

**Who:** Lisbon's team

**What:** Thanksgiving weekend holiday

**When:** Football game day

**Where:** Rigsby's home in San Francisco

**Why:** Some warm moments between friends

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing of The Mentalist series, episodes, characters, etc.

* * *

><p><strong>Fluff about Jane as a child (some people never change). Fun and warm. <strong>

* * *

><p>"Half-time. How about some snacks?" Rigsby suggested.<p>

The Rigsby's had hosted Thanksgiving dinner for their old CBI colleagues at their new house in San Francisco. Cho, Lisbon and Jane had flown in from Austin for the holiday weekend. Long past turkey day dinner, four of them were avidly watching the weekend's big football game. Jane studiously ignored the game as he had less than zero interest in televised sports. He sat off to the side in an easy chair, absorbed in his entertainment(?) -a Scientific American article- while everyone else watched the game.

Cho, Van Pelt, Lisbon and Rigsby herded into the kitchen, sampling a buffet of typical game day fare–high calorie, salty or sweet, and totally lacking any excuse for consumption except taste. For once, Rigsby's gustatory desires trumped Van Pelt's more-healthful notions. They piled snacks on their plates as they commented about the first two quarters of the exciting game.

Finished filling his plate, Cho was the first to notice. He nudged Rigsby's arm and motioned with his head toward the living room. The conversation gradually petered out as all four came to stand silently watching Jane. Jane, who had never evinced the slightest interest in sports during their ten year friendship, leaned forward in rapt attention as he watched the brief half-time special about the coming Summer Olympics, oblivious to his four friends.

Lisbon finally spoke over the TV narrative. "Jane, since when are you interested in pole vaulting?"

Her question jogged him out of his absorption with the special. "Huh? Uh, I just find it interesting, that's all." Hurried, off-handed.

Cho actually broke a grin. "Sports, Jane. You're _never_ interested in sports."

Bristling slightly, his attention divided between trying to follow more of the special and respond, "Well, I am this time. Since when can't I be interested?"

Van Pelt took pity on him, "It's just so unusual for–" but Jane shushed her, waving her quiet as the special resumed after a commercial break.

The four friends kept their conversation low as they seated themselves and ate in the living room. At the next commercial break, Rigsby said, "Okay, Jane. We'll shut up while you watch the rest. But after the game you're gonna tell us what's special about pole vaulting."

Back to closely watching as the special resumed, Jane waved him off, "Sure, sure. Let me finish watching." The ten-minute special was soon over. After the usual marching band and cheer-leading routines, the game resumed.

~.~.~.~

The game was finally over. Rigsby's favorite team had won, disappointing Van Pelt and Lisbon. Cho was nonpartisan, having watched more to see a well-played, exciting game than to worry about who won or lost. Jane was completely absorbed in his magazine again, his concentration so complete that the rest of the world had temporarily ceased to exist for him. After everyone stretched and made pit stops, Van Pelt passed out a luscious dessert and Jane set aside his reading.

"Time to fess up, Jane. Why the sudden interest in sports?" Rigsby reminded him.

Jane shrugged, fastidiously wiping his lips and fingers on a napkin after the dessert. "Just idle curiosity."

"Nothing idle about it from what I saw," opined Cho dryly.

"Just something I tried as a kid," Jane countered. "So, what's on the agenda for tomorrow?"

Seated nearby, Lisbon nudged his knee with hers. "No you don't. No distractions. 'Something you tried as a kid,' huh? I thought you didn't do sports in school."

"It had nothing to do with school," said Jane shortly.

Van Pelt chimed in, "Uhhh, pole vaulting isn't like kick ball or touch football. Who tries pole vaulting on his own? –Oh! Did you take a class or something?"

That earned her a scornful glance from Jane. "No. I just saw it on TV and tried it."

Lisbon sat back and smiled. "Okay. There is _definitely_ a story attached to this. Tell us, Jane!"

Jane sighed, looking around at four pairs of eyes all focused on him. Clearly there was no graceful exit sans explanation. They could see his decision as though flipping a switch. His normal reticence about the personal gave way as entertainer took center stage. "Well, I was about eight and we were traveling the Midwest carny circuit..."

~.~.~.~

Patrick Jane trotted down the sidewalk trailed by his younger friend, Jimmy Barlow. The carnival had set up yesterday at the edge of town. Today was his first chance to poke around and explore the small town of Centreville. At mid-morning, the day was sunny and not too humid. As they walked, he checked out the stately brick houses on either side of the tree-shaded street. This was the old part of town where houses had been built by the original eminent personages – judges, mayors, business owners. Built in the early part of the 20th century, the houses graced lots large enough for a household garden, carriage house, and paddock for horses. It was similar to hundreds of towns Paddy had seen on the several carnival circuits he could remember. In a couple of hours the two boys finished a quick survey of the town. They spent a few minutes inside enjoying the cool, dim church with its stained glass windows, were chased out of the local drug store when it became clear they had no money to buy anything, and took care to stay just beyond the reach of furiously barking, chained dogs. It was time to get back before their mothers worried and would decide to impose punishment and extra chores.

Paddy was intrigued by the last house before the sidewalks petered out. The house was large, brick with chimneys on opposite sides, a generous wrap porch, a slate roof, and heavy, solid woodwork. More precisely, his curiosity was piqued by the adjacent fenced area. The front fence was a low brick wall, topped with a tightly woven steel mesh fence. The gate was fastened with a padlock. Peering between the frame and gate, Paddy and Jimmy could just make out some antique cars inside.

"I think I see a Hudson," Paddy said to Jimmy.

'I dunno what they are, but they look real old," Jimmy responded.

"Wish I could see. I was reading about old cars. They're neat."

"Yeah, well the gate's locked."

"Let's see if there's another way in."

Paddy and Jimmy circled the rest of the acre-square fenced area. The front posed a six foot high, unbroken barrier to their curiosity. The remaining three sides had chicken wire fencing surrounded by thorny bushes so tightly interlocked that nothing was visible and penetration was impossible. Brushing off stickers from the weeds and rubbing their legs from saw grass scrapes, they stood back on the street, looking at the fence.

"C'mon. We need to get back."

"You go, Jimmy. I want to go around again and see if maybe there's a tree branch that goes over the fence. Then I could climb the tree and get in."

"How do you get out then?"

"Don't know. You go back. Tell my mom I'm coming, okay?"

His second time around revealed no convenient, overhanging branches. And no new ideas shook loose the third time he circled the fence. He finally gave up and ran back to his trailer, knowing he was already late enough to deserve extra chores and a scolding.

The next day, asking around turned up no one willing to lend Paddy a ladder. The ladders were too heavy for him to carry the quarter of a mile from the carnival even if he could have borrowed one. Paddy proceeded with plan C.

"What's that?"

"A pole," Paddy replied as he used a pocket knife to shave the bottom to a point.

"What's it for?"

"I saw something called pole vaulting on TV. You use a pole to get over a high bar."

"Huh?"

"Jimmy, remember that fence we saw with the cars? I really, really want to get in there."

"Why?"

"Just to look. Reading a book isn't the same as seeing them myself."

"You're gonna get in trouble. –You think you can use that stick–"

"–_pole_"

"–to get inside?"

"Yeah, why not?"

That evening Paddy and Jimmy took the pole and walked back to the fenced area. Twilight was upon them, but Paddy thought there was still enough time for him to take a look.

"Okay. I'm going to use this pole to get over the fence. When I get over, I need you to push the pole in so I can get back out when I'm done."

~.~.~.~

"Jane, you didn't!" exclaimed Van Pelt.

"Yes, I did. It worked, too."

"You got over the fence? On your first try?"

"I got over the fence, Scraped my back on the top, but nothing too bad. That was the good news."

Lisbon leaned back with an amused smile. _Some things never change._ "And the bad news?"

Jane cleared his throat. "Well, I hadn't paid enough attention to landing. It didn't occur to me that a pole vault doesn't leave you standing."

"Why am I not surprised?" Cho asked.

"C'mon, Jane. Don't make us pull it out of you. Just tell the story," urged Rigsby.

"I managed to get over the fence, but landed flat on my back. Luckily it was dirt and grass. Knocked the wind out of me and I was kind of stunned."

"I bet," murmured Lisbon, remembering similar situations with her brothers.

"Jimmy thought I'd killed myself when I didn't move. He was only six. He ran back to the carnival and ratted me out to his mom, who naturally told my mom."

"She came and got you out?" guessed Van Pelt.

"Not exactly. The fence was padlocked, remember? A cop noticed the three of them standing there and asked what was happening. Turns out the house was owned by a retired judge. The cop had to get him out of bed at nine at night to get the key." Jane had a faraway look, "Geez, he must have been eighty years old. He was not happy."

"So you got out, then what?"

"Uh, no. The judge came out with the key and unlocked it. He was about to yell at us all till I asked him if I could see the cars."

"You have no shame!"

"Hey! I liked the cars. Clearly, he liked the cars. What did I have to lose? So I got him talking about his collection. I guess he was impressed that a young kid knew something about them because he warmed up. He turned on some outdoor security lights and gave me a tour. He even let me sit in a couple of the cars. An hour later he locked up and I went back to the carnival."

"Did you get punished? Or were you able to talk your way out of that, too?"

"No, my mom didn't let me get away with much. I mean, if I did something, I expected to pay a price. I had to wash the walls and scrub the floors of the trailer. And I had to save any money I made till I could replace the pole I took from the closet. But I got to see the cars. It was a nice collection."

"Only you, Jane. Only you," Rigsby said, shaking his head.


End file.
